The Perfect Lover (Cynster 10)

A stir near the door had him glancing that way. Kitty had joined them. She was resplendent in white satin liberally bedecked with silver lace. Her pale hair was intricately dressed; diamonds winked on her breast and in her lobes. Seen by herself, she was an enchanting sight, not least because she was flown with delight—it showed in her face, in her eyes, made her skin glow.

She very correctly spoke to the older members of the company, then took Henry’s arm and started to stroll, stopping by each group to pay and receive compliments.

Simon looked back at Portia. When Kitty paused beside her, the result was as he’d guessed; against Portia’s subtler, more intriguing beauty, Kitty appeared tawdry. She did not linger but moved on, then she was beside him.

They only had time to exchange a few words before the butler entered and announced that dinner was served.

He led Lucy in, hoping against hope . . . but no, the seating was organized, and he suspected Kitty had done the organizing. Lord and Lady Glossup took the chairs at the table’s ends; Kitty had seated herself in the middle along one side with Henry directly opposite, entirely appropriately. Desmond was on her left, Ambrose on her right. Portia was toward one end, between Charlie and James; he, Simon, was at the far end on the opposite side of the table, flanked by Lucy and the all-but-silent Drusilla.

If matters had been different, he would have had no reason to complain—Lucy was bright and cheery, even if her gaze strayed rather too often James’s way, and Drusilla required no more than the occasional polite word to be content. As it was, throughout the meal, he was forced to endure the sight of Portia being artfully regaled by Charlie and James.

Normally, he wouldn’t even have thought to watch her, not in this sphere; prior to today, her attitude to gentlemen had been nothing short of contemptuously dismissive. Neither Charlie nor James would have had the least chance of making any headway with her; the thought of her responding to their practiced wiles wouldn’t have entered his head.

All through the courses, he covertly watched her; at one point, he noticed Lady Osbaldestone’s eye on him and became even more careful. But his eyes had a will of their own; he couldn’t hear anything of their conversation but the way Portia smiled, the quick, alert, interested glances she lavished on both James and Charlie locked his attention on her.

What the devil was she up to?

What did she want to learn?

Even more importantly, did she have any idea what was going through James’s and Charlie’s heads?

He did. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit, far more than he wanted to think about.

Lady O’s head swung his way. Lowering his lashes, he turned to Lucy. “Have you heard of any plans for tomorrow?”

He bided his time; luckily Lucy was as eager as he to head for the ballroom. The instant Lady Glossup rose and shooed them in that direction, he offered Lucy his arm, leaving Drusilla to follow with Mr. Archer.

Having been nearer the doors, Portia, on Charlie’s arm, was some way ahead of them. In the front hall, they had to skirt the local guests who had started to arrive; the houseguests went directly down the hall to the ballroom. It was clear from the throng already in the foyer that the ball would be well attended; Simon swept Lucy straight on, intent on catching up with Portia before the developing crowd engulfed her.

Stepping into the ballroom, they saw James, just ahead of them, surveying those already present, scanning the heads.

Simon knew without question that James was seeking Portia; with Lucy on his arm, he paused.

Kitty swept up to James; she was there before he realized. Placing one hand on his arm, she stepped close—too close. James stepped back but she followed; he was forced to allow her to lean familiarly against him. Her smile was pure seduction; she spoke softly.

She was a small woman; to hear her, James had to lower his head, creating a tableau that suggested a relationship somewhat closer than family ties.

Beside him, Simon felt Lucy stiffen.

James straightened, lifted his head; an expression close to panic flitted over his features. He saw Simon; his eyes widened.

No friend could ignore such a plea.

Simon patted Lucy’s hand. “Come—let’s speak with James.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy’s chin rise. Determinedly, she stepped out beside him.

Kitty saw them coming; she fell back a step, so her body was not quite touching James’s.

“My dear Kitty!” Lucy spoke before they’d halted; they were now all on first-name terms. “You must be quite thrilled with the turnout. Did you expect so many?”

Kitty took a moment to change mental tracks, then she smiled. “Indeed, it’s very gratifying.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t standing with your mama-in-law to greet them.”

Simon bit his lip, inwardly applauding Lucy’s gumption; her eyes remained wide, her expression innocent, yet she’d swiftly put Kitty in an uncomfortable spot.

Kitty’s smile turned brittle. “Lady Glossup doesn’t require me to assist her. Besides”—she turned her gaze on James—“this is the best moment in which to make one’s arrangements to be sure one enjoys the evening to the fullest.”